


on the concept of truth

by MathildaHilda



Category: Dark (TV 2017)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Character study i think?, Time Travel, i'll update the tags when i figure out just how exactly i should tag it, it's just an excuse for me to write some weird stuff, there's no fix-it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 04:21:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21238076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MathildaHilda/pseuds/MathildaHilda
Summary: Once upon a time, time told a lie.





	on the concept of truth

**Author's Note:**

> It was late. I was tired. I was bored.   
Here we are, so enjoy!

No one ever says it, that time is a lie.

It’s always a concept. An illusion. A trick.

It’s everything, yet nothing.

Time is a lie.

There’s nothing true about it.

~

Time spits him out, as if though it wishes to be rid of him, and lands him in a field of wheat and beneath a grey sky.

It spits him out, just like it took him in; dressed in yellow, shielded against all those outward forces that wished to get in.

It spits him out, and it had taken him in, while he was still smelling blood in his nose, still sucking it in between his teeth. Drowning on it.

He chokes on the thickness of it.

Time is a lie, no one says, when he burns his tongue on hot soup and chokes on soft bread.

Time is never a lie, but neither is it a truth.

No one says it. No one thinks it.

It’s all the same; everyone already knows.

~

His throat burned then, and it burns now, no matter what happens next.

His memory is a shattered thing, broken by time.

His body is not. Not yet, at least.

In time, it will be. Now, it’s only scarred.

His eyes are, forever, blue.

Martha, is long since gone, even when no time has passed at all.

He remembers everything. He remembers nothing.

~

He thinks his mother understands. Understands his reasons for leaving, and his reasons for coming back.

He thinks she understands Papa’s reasons. She doesn’t. not quite.

In the end, right _before_ the end, it turns out she never understood anything at all.

Time isn’t a lie.

It’s not a too complicated truth.

Time just, _happens_.

Hannah doesn’t understand her son’s reasons, most of all because she doesn’t want to.

Or, perhaps, his reasons aren’t quite as sound as he makes them out to be.

Time is a mistake. It does not grant anyone anything.

~

If there is anything that time has taught him, it is that there is no such thing as changing it.

Everything has already happened, just like it’s supposed to, and therefore, there’s nothing left to do, rather than to follow time’s carefully calculated roads.

It’s a thief, and a gift.

Time isn’t life, and it isn’t death.

Time simply, _is_.

There doesn’t need to be a reasoning behind it.

His own existence hangs on the one mistake time ever made, and therefore, it is a mistake that it will keep making, until there’s nothing left but him, and time.

In a sense, broad as it may be, there is no time without him.

Time is simply a spectrum, a flicker of light.

~

Martha is gone. Martha is _dead_.

Papa is dead. Mama is gone.

He is a constant in everyone’s misery.

Time isn’t a lie.

Time is blood, and smoke, and ticking little boxes with components that don’t quite fit together.

It’s a yellow coat, stuffed beneath a tree, a coat wrapped around a corpse. It’s too far between the dates.

  1. 2020.

Time is constant. Time does not exist.

~

He has speculated, perhaps more than most, about the birth of time.

Not time travel itself, for it is universally acknowledged that man has always sought to repair their mistakes, meet an old love, or simply see the past for what it was. Man is curious by nature.

Curiosity is man’s final voyage.

No, he doesn’t ponder much over the birth of time travel.

Simply, that of time.

God, science, or the universe’s idea of a strange and nauseating joke.

Perhaps all three. Perhaps neither.

Perhaps one or two, disregard the third, least possible one. Perhaps there’s an answer.

Perhaps, it is all a lie.

Time is a lie. Time is a truth.

Time is, always, neither.

Time is every unnamed color, every forgotten word, every decrepit act known and done by man.

Time is everything. And nothing.

He’s getting tired of it. Time is quite the painful affair.

~

They were perfect, family and time be damned.

Her eyes are wide and dark, her hair smelling faintly of vanilla. Rosy cheeks, slicked with blood.

She’s beautiful. Everyone is beautiful forever, it’s just a change of perspective.

They were perfect, and time despised them both for it.

Take one out, and it becomes an incomplete equation. Add one, and you have a perfect match.

Take one out, add the odd number. Everything’s different. Nothing’s changed.

Everything’s still perfect. It’s only a little different.

~

Once upon a time, time told a lie.

It has never once told a complete truth.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is split between the three different versions of Jonas, so if you can figure which one was which I'll give you a virtual high-five
> 
> Also, if you can understand this story, man then you deserve an award, because not even I know for sure what exactly this is!


End file.
